


Muse

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Ardyn is an insufferable artist, M/M, Noct is his new muse, it does get a bit smutty, oh my god what have i done, there's body paint and butterflies and possibly satanic symbols involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:26:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Noct is considering switching out of his Art major and into something new--But when he meets the vaguely disturbing and relatively charming Ardyn Izunia, he learns that there are some situations that are harder to slither out of than others.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the trash ship train, this is your conductor, Fae.  
> This takes place before the events of the [It Figures](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9802901) fic.  
> Also, Noct is poking fun at modern art because he's a scrublord, not because it reflects my view on the genre.

Noctis Lucis Caelum wasn’t sure about being an Art major.

Of course, he hadn’t been certain about being an English major, either. Or Education, or Gender Studies, or a brief foray into History that had him almost dropping out entirely to start a band with his new roommate, Prompto. Like all of Noctis’ recent endeavors, the two-man _Noct and the Crownsguard_ had crashed and burned spectacularly. So here he was, an Art major with a minor in English, standing around at the weirdest gallery showing he’d ever been forced to attend for extra credit.

The fact that he’d attended more than _one_ was a testament to how badly he was failing his Art 101 and 150 courses.

This gallery was particularly bizarre. There was a whole room dedicated to some Besithia guy’s “Magi-Tech Virtual Reality Simulator,” which consisted of visitors sitting on a wooden bench and watching a video of a man say “Oh god, life has no meaning,” through a series of robotic masks throughout the course of a year. Then there was the giant slab of fiberglass, painted bright red, which Noct saw was on sale for $50,000. It was mildly upsetting. Sure, Noct’s painting of a night sky was "a waste of time" and “just a blank canvas painted black,” but when someone else did it to sanded-down fiberglass, it was _art?_

“Intriguing, isn’t it?” said a low, smooth voice from behind him. Noct turned to see a tall, smiling older man with mauve hair and at least five different layers of fabric on, leaning _very_ close over his shoulder. Noct assumed he had to be an artist, because there was no way anyone would be caught dead wearing _that_ kind of hat indoors.

“Y-yeah,” Noct said, looking back at the $50k slab. “Sure is something, I guess.”

“I think the artist made a bold choice,” said the man. “And of course, the way the board tilts just _so_ provides an excellent social commentary on the glorification of the wealthy elite.”

Noct squinted at the board. “Okay, no, that has to be bullshit. It’s a red board. There’s no way you can get that out of _this._ ”

The man grinned, and lowered his voice. “Of course it’s bullshit,” he said, and Noct could smell the faint hint of his cologne as his mouth came dangerously close to his ear. “But it’s _expensive_ bullshit, which is how we know it’s art.”

Noct snorted. “Are artists always this harsh on each other?” he asked. The man straightened and gave him a vague, distant look.

“What makes you say _that?_ ” he asked.

“Your clothes,” Noct said, promptly. "Flower prints _and_ stripes? Artist, definitely."

“ _Not_ the best way to judge a man’s profession, I’ll grant you, but you are correct.” The man bowed, and Noct tried to hold back another undignified snort. “Ardyn Izunia, _at_ your service.”

“Noct.”

“Just Noct?”

“Sure,” Noct said. “You know, like Cher, or Bono.” He didn’t like people knowing his last name. It made them uncomfortable, at best, to know that they were talking to a trust-fund kid who willingly _chose_ to wear grungy black capris and skull and crossbone T-shirts six days out of seven. It was better to delay the inevitable.

“Well, Noct, like Cher,” Ardyn said. “Would you like to see _my_ work?”

Noct was pretty sure he didn’t need any sort of degree to get what Ardyn was laying down. Sure, the guy was at least ten years older than Noct, if not more. And yeah, he seemed to view Noct as though he’d already agreed to _everything_ he had in mind for him… But the night was dragging anyways, and Noct’s roommate was gone for the weekend. Who’d care, really?

“What the hell,” Noct said, and followed Ardyn out.

 

“Gotta admit,” said Noct, three hours later. “This wasn’t how I thought the evening was gonna go.” 

“Hush, darling,” Ardyn said. “You’ll smudge the paint.”

Noct lay on a flat black board covered in red circles, trying not to wince as Ardyn ran a paintbrush along the lines of his neck, outlining the muscles that lay below his skin. Noct’s shoulders and chest were covered with red and yellow paper butterflies, which shivered like live things as he twisted, trying to get a look at what Ardyn was doing. 

“Seriously,” Noct said. “When you said I was your _muse,_ I thought you meant, you know, we’d go back to your place, have some drinks, I wouldn’t get axe murdered while lying buck naked on a summoning circle…”

Ardyn’s laugh was sinful. “Oh, Noct,” he said. “I’m hardly an axe murderer. It’s not a very lucrative field.”

“And art is?”

The older man pressed his free hand to Noctis’ lips, silencing him. Then he finished the last stroke, set his brush carefully on a tray for cleaning later, and withdrew. 

“Yes,” he said. “I think you’ll do nicely. Just one more thing.” He braced his arms on either side of Noct and kissed him, _finally_ kissed him, tasting of coffee and vodka and something Noct couldn’t quite place. He pressed Noct’s head into the back of the board, a hand clenched tight in his hair, and when he finally broke free of him, Noct felt dizzy and helplessly aroused. 

“When we’re done,” Ardyn said, “I’m going to _enjoy_ ruining that pretty mouth of yours.”

“Okay,” Noct said, breathless. “Whatever you say.”

Ardyn pulled out his camera and stood over Noct, angling down so that his shadow didn’t disrupt the view. Noct’s lips were swollen, his mouth parted slightly as he gasped for air, and he looked up at Ardyn through half-lowered lids.

“Beautiful,” Ardyn said, and took the shot. 

When it was done, Noct stood at the edge of the backdrop, made weak by each slow kiss that Ardyn placed on what available skin he could find. Still, there were some places where a man had to draw the line.

“I have butterflies on my nipples,” Noct said, as the other man made quick work of stripping off his designer jeans. “My _nipples._ How the hell does anyone get off on—“ He stopped as Ardyn placed large hands on his hips, urging him down onto the wooden backdrop. “Right. You, of course.”

“Again with that mouth of yours,” Ardyn said, in a low voice. He pressed himself flush to Noct’s body, parting his legs with a ridiculous rustle of paper. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

“Sure we fucking will,” Noct said, smirking despite himself. He tried to ignore the flash of yellow and red as he wrapped his arms around the larger man’s broad shoulders, nails digging into the skin. Ardyn laughed and shifted upward, making Noct run angry lines over his shoulderblades. Noct lent himself to the taste of him, the heat of their contact, the sound of paper wings snapping as he was shoved back against the smooth planks of Ardyn’s latest masterpiece.

 

Noct woke up the next morning covered in crushed paper butterflies, at least a pound of body paint, and a generous helping of regret. He rolled to his side and heard a creaking sound—Craning his neck around, he saw a corner of blue painter’s tarp clinging to the dried paint on his shoulder. The paint mark _there_ looked suspiciously like a hand.

Right. Ardyn had taken photos of him against one of his ridiculous backdrops, and then he’d, well...

“Good morning, Muse number 26,” Ardyn said from the door, in a cheerful, sleep-thick tone. He carried two cups of coffee stacked with whipped cream and various toxic-colored syrups, and had to be wearing at least two different scarves at once. “Don’t move from the tarp, precious. You’ll get paint on my sheets.”

“I have a _name,_ asshole,” Noct said, peeling himself from the tarp anyways. He swung his bare feet onto the carpet, shedding butterflies, and ran a hand through his hair. “Can I use your shower?”

“No,” Ardyn said. “I prefer to see my lovers emerge into the wild with the just-fucked look of the truly debauched.” Noct flipped him a rude gesture, and he smiled. “I can drink your mocha _for_ you if you’d prefer to be belligerent…”

“I'm good,” Noct said, grabbing the coffee from Ardyn’s hand. “Thank you.” He absently dipped a finger into the foam and licked it off, wondering what Prompto was up to. He’d have to text him later, let him know that he wasn’t currently in the hands of a serial killer in the guise of a walking fashion disaster.

He looked up at Ardyn, who was watching him with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Alright, maybe he’d have to put off _that_ text until he was absolutely sure. 

“I’m taking a shower anyways,” Noct said, shoving another lump of whipped cream in his mouth. “Your butterflies can go fuck themselves.”

“You are an inspiration, my dear,” Ardyn said, leaning in to kiss the side of his cheek. Noct rolled his eyes and padded towards the bathroom, still working on the mocha. This was it, he thought. No more going home with strange men you meet at art galleries. _Especially_ this one. He’d leave as soon as he was done showering, and would never lay eyes on Ardyn Izunia again. 

Noct took one look at his wild hair, the bite marks trailing up his neck, and the streaks of paint that smeared across his face and chest, and sighed. 

“I’m fucked,” he said, to his hazy-eyed reflection.

“Not thoroughly, you aren’t,” called Ardyn, from the other side of the door. 

Noct grimaced. He could tell that this was _definitely_ not going to be anything near as easy as switching a major.

**Author's Note:**

> May add more chapters. I'm not sure. Eternally hungover/disturbing artist Ardyn is just... really fun to write.


End file.
